My Kind of Beautiful
by madaboutalice123
Summary: Post-Silk party in 301. Clive and Martha and champagne. A little love and a little smut. (I'm hopeless at rating, I hope M is right!)


**AN - This is a somewhat smutty little offering, vaguely based on the scene at the end of Clive's Silk party in 301. I saw a still from the episode on the Shoe Lane tumblr page and it all sort of went from there. I have only seen the episode once (come on, Netflix!) so anything that is inaccurate is fully the fault of my own memory! This is probably a little farfetched, considering the Cowdrey family incident, but it's Clive and Martha, so I'm letting it slide! **

**Hope you enjoy, let me know what you think! X **

* * *

My kind of, my kind of beautiful  
Lover and friend  
If I'm dreamin', please don't wake me up  
I wanna see how, how the story ends.  
_(One Flew South - My Kind of Beautiful) _

They stood in silence; blonde, brunette, blonde in a row, watching as the taxi pulled away. One was immaculate, two dishevelled; one sober, two a little drunk; all three faces etched with concern and a hint of bewilderment. Voices sounded behind them but they didn't move, rooted to the spot, each one silently processing what they had heard. The taxi disappeared from view and still they stood, unable to comprehend what had happened.

She wasn't quite sure when she had swapped from beer to champagne, or who had handed her the glass that was now half empty, tilting between her fingers as though she was holding a cigarette. The thought caught; she finished the drink in one and headed briskly in the direction of the door. Once outside she realised that she was unprepared, bag and cigarettes had been left somewhere indoors. She sighed, annoyed. A shoulder bumped against hers, "Here, I'm leaving. Finish it". CW held a lit cigarette to Martha's lips, barely smoked and slightly tinted with lipstick.  
She took it, breathing deeply, "Thanks".  
No reply was offered, just a nod and half smile and then she was gone, young man in tow and heading for a taxi.  
Martha sank to the steps, knees bent, resting back on one elbow as she smoked. She tried to think of nothing but the drink was swirling in her mind, a hundred thoughts materialising and jumping and trailing away in seconds. Mindlessly she flicked ash away, noticing the lipstick on the tip was still CW's nude pink rather than her own siren red. Her own, she mused, that was staining someone else's lips now. Her mind flitted to him, she didn't know where he was, probably inside; it was his party after all. People were still drinking, still talking, but it was gossip now rather than networking. Let them talk; she had already caused one scene for the day, two if you counted the dancing, at least the third had been in private. Martha stretched her legs out onto the next step as she tried to make CW's cigarette last as long as possible. Maybe he had been telling the truth; there had been nothing in his face to counteract his words. They never lied to each other, either spoke the truth or kept silent. She closed her eyes and thought about him, about their scene and how she felt about it. It wasn't just the alcohol or the emotions from the day that had made her act; she knew she felt something for him but had honestly never imagined anything might happen; hadn't entertained the idea that he felt something too. He had always been too much of a playboy for anyone to imagine him settling for more than a few weeks, let alone actually saying he loved someone. There had been an unusual honesty in his eyes, a rare revealing of feeling, laying himself bare. She was too cautious in her personal life to do the same so easily, publicly. A little word carried a lot of weight, too much to throw around or waste, and she had said it precious few times to people. He wasn't the flippant type either, nor one to say something, that word, without meaning it though. She had wanted it, him, when she had pushed up on tiptoe to kiss him, quickly getting lost in the feeling. Remembered his soft smile when they pulled apart, how worried he had sounded as she floated into consciousness after fainting. How bloody embarrassing. He would tease her, she knew that, lightly mocking was his usual way.  
The cigarette was finally finished but Martha couldn't bring herself to stand and return inside just yet. Content in her thoughts she remained seated on the stone steps, eyes now open but unseeing. She didn't know how long she sat there, but was startled when she heard her name called.  
A glass in each hand, half full bottle under one arm, tie still askew, Clive took the steps diagonally to land next to her. He sat and handed her a glass, copying her position, his feet reaching two steps below hers. She smiled and touched the rim of her glass to his, "Congratulations".  
He chuckled and they both drank, quiet for a few moments until she asked, "Are you stealing drink?"  
"It's my party," Clive said lightly, "I can do whatever the hell I like".  
Martha smiled, eyes lightening with affection, "What's going on in there?"  
"The usual, gossip and drinking".  
"Fascinating," she drawled, taking another drink, "And yet you've come out here".  
The look was back in his eyes, his voice low, "I'd rather be out here with you". He reached back to put his glass down on the step, misjudged and it made a sharp high sound as it shattered and fell. "Fuck it, there's still the bottle".

Fragments of smashed glass, an empty flute and an empty bottle sat on the steps around them as they talked and laughed, the earlier horrors of the evening pushed to one side, to be thought about another time. His legs were stretched out, hers bent and they were angled towards each other; both leaning on elbows, heads close.  
"We could go," he said, "No one would notice".  
Martha tilted her head, looking slightly up through her lashes, "Is that an invitation?"  
"Yes," he met her challenge and gaze head on.  
She pulled back and pushed to stand up, "I need to get my bag".  
He nodded, unmoving, "I'll be here".

Her heels were sharp against the stone as she briskly disappeared into the building in search of her things. Sitting there, just the two of them, had made her realise that the affection and closeness between them wasn't just something between friends, that the feeling low in her stomach wasn't just a fleeting thing. It had taken him speaking out for her to look inside and see what deep down, she probably already knew. For once, perhaps he was the more perceptive of them, realising what could be between them. It had always been Martha who shared more, cared more, understood feelings better, but suddenly when it was actually about them, Clive knew what he wanted first.  
Once inside, Martha deftly sidestepped groups of people to find her bag and jacket. It surprised her how many people were still there; she supposed that a party was a party and when there was free alcohol people would continue with the evening regardless. It would certainly be Shoe Lane that everyone was talking about in the morning. She stopped briefly to tell John that she was leaving, using her cut hand and bad court result as the excuse. Most people seemed to have forgotten the disaster at the beginning of the evening and she wasn't about to resurrect it again. As she weaved back towards the door Martha passed the long tables beings used as a makeshift bar. It was cluttered with empties as well as full glasses and a variety of bottles of wine. About to slide left down the corridor, she noticed a box which had been ripped open, left ignored at the leg of the table. Green bottles, gold and red labels were obvious; unopened champagne. Without thinking she bent and tucked a bottle into her bag, another under the jacket that hung over her arm.

Clive was still seated when she started down the steps, feet wanting to rush but head knowing better, especially with 2 bottles in hand and after a few drinks. He looked up when he heard her footsteps, stood to meet her. She stopped in front of him, carefully unwrapped her jacket and handed him a bottle. Surprised, he stared at her then laughed, "You're stealing from my party".  
"You're leaving your party," Martha pointed out, "I took two".  
As she shrugged her jacket on he pulled the foil and cap off the bottle and began to ease the cork out. Once it was open, and the bubbles had died down, he swigged from it then passed it to Martha, who copied suit. She handed it back and picked up her bag, carefully placing it over her shoulder.  
He held the bottle around the neck, dangling by his side, and with his other hand took hers. She shot him a look, surprise and apprehension, but he didn't relinquish his hold, just smiled and took another drink. Down the few remaining steps and then they were crossing the courtyard and cobbled path towards the road. The light hadn't quite begun to fade and the air was still and only just starting to cool. A few people walked the streets, buses and taxis still sped along and contended with the occasional cyclist. Neither of them made an effort to hail a taxi, both comfortable walking and chatting quietly. As expected, Clive teased her for fainting; swooning, as he was calling it. She pretended to be offended but couldn't help but laugh with him, swatting at him with her still bandaged hand.  
They drank and walked and for the time being they were carefree and very little mattered except the two of them. Laughter bubbled and he swung their joined hands between them, singing a few lines from a song overheard through a car window. If it wasn't for her suit, they might have passed for students having left a party; rumpled formalwear and casual champagne, their smiles taking years off their age.

They reached the Thames and for a while they stood, silent and each lost in their own thoughts, staring at the swirling dark water below them. A few boats moved across the water, fighting the stream to travel, and in the distance headlights flickered as cars crossed the bridge.  
She was more than a little drunk now, but so was he. Somehow her thoughts were clearer, more ordered and she was able to understand, or at least formulate something out of her feelings. He had taken her by surprise earlier, completely thrown her and for a time there had been too much emotion spinning for her to react in any way other than how she had done. She always worked on instinct, and kissing him had been no different. The rational side of her mind was telling her to at least talk about it with him, he had put himself on the line and she ought to say something; the other side, the champagne-fizzy, slightly wanton side of her was saying there was plenty of time to talk, right now she could just act, do whatever she wanted to.

Martha handed him the second bottle she had taken, then let her bag fall to the floor and wriggled out of her jacket, dropping it onto over the arm of the sofa.  
"More?" he asked over his shoulder, hovering between the glasses cabinet and the tall silver fridge.  
"No, thanks," she shook her head, "Probably had enough," just on the right side of drunk, she could still think and talk rationally.  
He put the bottle away, shoved in the fridge between bottles of beer and milk, and turned back to her, now perched against the back of the sofa and watching him, an unreadable expression on her face.  
She was deep in thought again, but desperately trying not to over analyse and just let things happen; the tendency to try to engineer a situation had never turned out well in her past. They had both made moves; his verbal, hers physical, but honestly, she didn't know what came next, not between them. Somehow it seemed different to anything, anyone, else, and it was making her hesitant, unsure and, now she was there in his flat, slightly nervous. She couldn't, wouldn't, deny that she wanted him, maybe more than she had realised; but the nerves formed from the realisation that it wasn't just something physical. Perhaps they had been walking a fine line for long enough; he'd jumped, both feet, hoping that she would catch him, and maybe, just maybe, she could let herself reach out.  
While thoughts tumbled through her head and champagne through her veins, Clive shed his jacket and tie and shoes, and paused in hanging them over the door to study her. Her face was towards him, but her eyes were elsewhere and she was surprised when he stood in front of her, toe to toe.  
He brushed a hand through the blonde hair that fell over her eyes and settled his hand against her neck, thumb tracing over her pulse point repeatedly. Leaning into his touch, she let out a soft sigh, eyes briefly closing. When she opened them again, he was closer, breath ghosting over her skin when he spoke.  
"Give me a chance, give us a chance Marth," he was almost whispering, voice low and tinged with an emotion she didn't think she had heard from him before, "It doesn't have to be a long shot, we can make it".  
A breath she didn't know she had been holding escaped her and for a long moment she couldn't say anything. "I - " she blinked slowly, focusing again, "Say it again".  
His lips were brushing over hers, so lightly, gently, "I love you, Martha Costello".

They were sure in their movements, deliberate; undressing, taking and conceding the upper hand willingly as they moved from living room to bedroom. He pulled back, inches between them for a moment, his eyes taking her in; stockings, underwear and a starched white shirt, flushed face and hazy eyes. She had never seemed more beautiful to Clive as she did in that moment. His hands fell to the buttons on her shirt, slowly undoing them.  
"Don't be so gentle," Martha reached up to kiss him but he resisted, hovering just out of reach of her mouth.  
A lazy smile formed on his lips as she tried to encourage him, to make his hands move faster. His nose brushed across her cheek, mouth against her ear, "Tell me you want me".  
Pressing closer, she repeated him, "I want you," and his fingers flicked two more buttons undone, all too briefly darting to graze over her skin underneath. Clive kissed her gently, still refusing to be drawn in as she pushed him to continue. Slowly he moved down the buttons, pausing at the last one, "Tell me you need me".  
She spoke between kisses, mumbling against his mouth as her words rang true, "I need you".  
His hands moved again and her shirt was undone, pushed off her shoulders to fall on the floor. Giving in to her, Clive tangled his hands in her hair, mouth rough over hers again and again as he pressed her back against the wall; he was less gentle now and she arched under his hands; one stopped at her hip, thumb almost curling inside the edge of her underwear. He kissed his way down her neck, teeth nipping at skin as he travelled, "Now tell me you love me," he murmured, words hot against her throat.  
Her voice caught and almost breathlessly she returned the words, "I love you". It was instinct again and she meant it.  
Clive stilled, drawing back slightly, and she looked up to meet his gaze, "Marth...".  
A smile lit up her face, eyes bright and trusting and in that instant, as she spoke again, he knew she really did, "Yes. I love you".  
It was sudden, as though neither of them had expected the words to fall from her lips as easily as they had done. In that moment, both were more drunk and yet more sober than they had been all evening; emotions ran high and feelings fell into place in a instant, all playing out in two pairs of blue eyes which couldn't tear away from each other. The second the words left her mouth she knew it was right and true and that everything she had ever felt for him tumbled into that one word - love. Instinct, intuition, something, had made her press her lips to his at the beginning of the evening, and it had never felt so right.

Buoyed by champagne and emotion they fell together again; eyes staying open as they touched and kissed and finished undressing, watching each other, taking every movement and every second in.  
"Bed," Martha gasped as his hands drifted down her legs, lightly brushing over her skin as he slid her underwear off.  
He paused, eyes blinking up at her, "Hmm?"  
"Bed," she repeated with a smile, "Take me to bed".  
Clive curled his fingers around hers and pulled her away from the wall they had been against, leading her across the room to the bed. He drew her closer and gently pushed her back onto the king-sized bed, following her as she moved to the centre and fell back against the pillows. For a second he knelt beside her, gazing over her as she smiled up at him; he could barely believe what was happening, so unexpected and surprising, but so wanted. A nudge, her leg against his, brought him out of his thoughts and he reached out a hand, trailed it down her body and smiled when she shivered and breathed out a sigh. He stopped at her waist and his fingers stroked across her body, tracing the lines of her ribs and grazing the underside of her breasts. When he shifted to lay beside her, his hands moved higher and she arched into his touch before turning her head to catch his lips in a kiss that started as gently as his touch, but quickly grew more passionate as it continued. Murmurs and gasps of nonsense fell from both their lips as their hands roamed and mouths slid together and bodies wound around each other. They alternated control, teasing one another with feather light touches of fingers and lips and sudden sparks of something firmer and rougher and far more desperate.  
Martha's fingers drew patterns low on his hips and darted across his skin to stroke him until he could take her teasing no longer; Clive twisted them so he was hovering over her, both her hands pinned above her head in one of his, while the other slipped between her legs, teasing her as she had done to him. Her breathing was ragged and she pressed closer to his hand, silently begging for more; he refused to give in, fingers moving against her, briefly dipping inside her before drifting away again. It was the way she gasped his name, the passion and want and love shining in her eyes, that nearly undid him and without releasing her hands, Clive moved to kneel between her legs, one hand guiding them together. He stopped before he was fully inside her, his body stilling as his lips met hers with almost bruising intensity, teeth nipping at lips and tongues fighting as their desire bubbled over. Martha slid one foot up the back of his leg to hook her thigh over his hip, forcing him deeper into her and arching beneath him as he started to move. Finally he let her slide her hands from his grasp and groaned as they skimmed over his skin, nails leaving faint marks up his back, fingers pressing into his side as she held him against her, every touch making it harder to keep control. She rose to meet every thrust, and wrapped her other leg around him, pressing them together as he sped his movements up, encouraged by breathless murmurs and kisses peppered across any skin she could reach. Clive bent his head to hers, catching her kisses and returning them until he could feel her starting to tighten around him; he pulled back to look at her, voice low as he whispered, "Look at me, I want to watch you".  
Her eyes fluttered open to meet his and he held her gaze as he rocked above her, deeper and harder as she begged him with her voice and body. She came first, arching and trembling beneath him and tipping him over the edge seconds later, both of them crying out breathlessly and clinging together.

They lay, entwined and breathing heavily in the middle of Clive's bed, contented smiles curling both their lips. Martha turned to press their lips together and they kissed lazily, hands drawing each other closer in the cool air but there was no urgency to their touch, just comfort and reassurance.  
"I didn't know what you'd say," Clive admitted into the soft skin of her cheek.  
A breath huffed out against his hair, almost a laugh, "I couldn't have said anything else," she said truthfully, "I just didn't quite realise it before, for either of us".  
She was surprised by his admission, he was usually so self-assured and confident that it was strange to hear him say otherwise. He was always economical with feelings or emotions and she had got used to him being like that, never expected him to uncover something like love, and certainly not about her. There had always been an undercurrent to their friendship, something they skirted around and flirted with and then left alone; always pushing it away, staying professional and taking their feelings elsewhere. As she thought, it became more obvious that they had been sidestepping around something for a while, something that had a name neither of them would have come up with if pressed. With one finger on his chest, Martha carefully drew letters against his skin, noticing the moment he understood what she was writing as his eyes creased in the same gentle smile he had given her earlier in the evening. His own fingers replied, copying the movements on to her back and tracing them over and over.  
"You were right," Martha's words were quiet, musing, "It's not a long shot at all, it's just another level really. We will make it, because it's all real. I do want you, I do need you and I do love you, and I know you were saying it all in a rather different context, but I really do. Out of bed as well as in it".  
"Mmm," Clive's hands had stopped writing on her skin and turned to caressing instead, "Glad to hear it," one hand drifted upwards to cup her left breast, "But currently, we're definitely in bed".  
She laughed softly, revelling in his touch, "We are, and it's a rather good place to be".

* * *

It was a rude awakening, barely three hours after they had drifted to sleep; as soon as Martha's phone stopped ringing, Clive's started and it happened twice before she was awake enough to roll out of bed and locate her mobile, left forgotten in the living room.  
"Hello?" She didn't bother to look at the screen before answering, but was unsurprised to hear Billy's voice.  
"Miss, you alright?" He sounded tired and she knew he had probably been up all night.  
"Yes, thank you. Are you? What's going on?" Martha noticed her skirt on the floor and absentmindedly picked it up, placed it over the back of a chair before folding herself into a corner of the sofa.  
A sigh floated down the phone, not his usual exasperated one but the sound of concern and slight helplessness. "Damage control Miss, we'll handle it. He wants you and Mr Reader. I'll tell him. When can you be in?"  
"Alright," Martha said quietly, "Ok. I'll be there as soon as I can".  
Billy ended the call and for a moment she stayed motionless on the sofa, all the drama and horror and unknown from the previous night rushing back into her mind. They had known very little and that had made it easier to push aside, think about other things, as they had done quite successfully. A part of her was still reeling at what had gone on between them, but it now made perfect sense to her, how everything had suddenly come out and fallen into place. Tired and slightly hungover, Martha smiled; despite the situation at work she felt light, happy, words were out in the open and it was something to build on. However unexpected it had all been, she knew it was right and they had both meant everything they had said. Barely a minute later the ringing started again; it wasn't the phone in her hand, but Clive's, sitting on the kitchen counter, the noise pulling her from her brief musings of happiness. Martha picked it up and returned to the bedroom to shake him awake, "Clive, phone, it's Billy".  
He lifted his head and as he blinked sleepily at her, the noise stopped, "Just an alarm. Come here".  
She began to protest but was cut off when he pulled her back into bed, only just awake but already kissing her and creeping his hands down her back, making her breath catch as they slid lower. The knowledge that they shouldn't do anything other than get up fought in Martha's mind with desire that sparked as he touched her, and when his lips reached her neck, she gave in entirely.  
More ringing and Clive reluctantly pulled his lips from hers, reaching for the phone with one hand while the other continued its path to the inside of her left thigh. "Billy".  
"Morning Sir," the clerk greeted him with far less cheer in his voice than usual, "Mr Cowdrey would like you and Miss Costello. It'd be good if you were here as soon as possible Sir. I'll fill you in more when you get in".  
Surprised that Martha hadn't pulled away, Clive hurried to end the call, "Ok. Will do Billy. See you later," before dropping the phone and turning his attention back to her, kissing her even as he muttered, "We should get up".  
Her response was a hum as his fingers danced between her legs but she did pull back from his kiss, "Well if you're that keen on getting to work, we could probably finish this in the shower".  
"Jesus Marth," Clive groaned as she slid away from him and stood, fixing him with a coy stare, one hand drifting towards where his had been to tease him, "Where's this side of you been?"  
She grinned as he threw off the duvet and got up, backed towards the bathroom and he followed, as she knew he would, "Been here all along, you just weren't looking for it, busy elsewhere".  
He caught her in the doorway, hands splayed across her hips, and kissed her hungrily, only breaking off to mutter "Bloody mistake, won't make the same one again," and then they were kissing again, mouths greedy and hot and hands roaming.  
Their movements were the same dance as the night before, and they already seemed practised in the art of each other as they stumbled the few paces into the shower and Martha felt the cold tile against her back, pressed herself into the warmth of his body and smiled into the kiss when he groaned.

The closer the taxi got to Shoe Lane, the more apprehensive they became; they barely touched where they sat, side by side, and as much as he wanted to look at her, Clive turned his face towards the window, knowing that it would be difficult to keep his hands to himself if he did. The morning, and previous evening, hadn't been enough and he still wanted her, was certain that he always would, even more so after they had both said those three little words and then she had revealed a side of her he never expected there to be. It would be far preferable to turn around and go somewhere, anywhere else, with her than it would be to walk into the unknown drama that chambers was currently offering. He knew it was something big, not least because it was one of their own, something horribly personal, but a murder in a riot was never anything less than a minefield to work on.  
Clive's thoughts stopped as the taxi did, and he shuffled to the door as Martha paid and followed her out into sun that seemed inappropriate for the situation, but also completely right as he looked at her. The concern on his own face was mimicked in her expression, and for a second they stood, unwilling to enter chambers and face what they had ignored twelve hours earlier in favour of each other.  
Martha reached out and took his hand, fingers threaded together with a squeeze. "I love you". It seemed the right thing to say and it was an easy admission now she had said it before, the words felt right falling from her lips.  
Together, they turned to cross the courtyard and down the walkway to chambers. He only released her hand to open the door and let her through before him, ducking his head as she slipped past him and murmuring the same words in return. Where her expression had shown surprise and a hint of disbelief the first time he had said it, she now smiled, eyes briefly meeting his with a flutter.  
Although it was only just seven-thirty, Shoe Lane was full of people and subdued chatter, and Martha turned straight into their office rather than going to the clerks room as Clive did. The noise disappeared as the door shut and she sighed, dropping into her chair and closing her eyes against the world; she needed a few minutes of silence to get her head around the past twelve hours. Everything had changed so suddenly, and while that was no bad thing, her head was still whirling a little with all the emotions and feelings that had come rushing to the surface. For possibly the first time, she didn't really want to be in chambers, her mind was quite happy to keep reliving the previous evening rather than turn to the present. They had always had some connection more than friendship, as though linked by some thread which never let them drift too far apart; the thread seemed shorter now, and although she knew it was silly at 38, she couldn't help having the slightly giddy school-girl feeling that came with a new relationship. It was something she had never even entertained the idea of, because, with him, it just seemed so far out of reach; there had always been some feelings hidden away, and perhaps because she had never really let them become anything more, she had never realised quite how strong they really were. It was strange, she thought, how well they knew each other and nothing had come to light before he had spoken. It was a unusual way to start something, those three words usually came after a time, not at the beginning; but they weren't necessarily conventional people and their job was so based on the truth, that maybe it was the only way for them.  
Voices in the hallway roused Martha from her thoughts and she allowed herself one last smile at what had happened before leaving the office and walking straight into a shouting match between Billy and Harriet, watched by almost everyone who was already in chambers. No one appeared to be doing anything other than standing and staring in horror, and she noticed that even John looked apprehensive and Clive was missing. Martha stepped around Jimmy and Bethany, shot CW a look that plainly said 'what is going on, and why haven't you done anything?' and stepped up to Billy and Harriet.  
"I think that's enough," her hand rested on Billy's arm, "A word, please". She turned away and stalked back into her office, ignoring the looks of other people as she went.  
"I'm not going to say anything about that," she sorted things on her desk and didn't look at the clerk as she spoke, "I'll leave it that you're worried about Alan and David, you didn't sleep last night and she made an inappropriate comment. Now, what's going on?"  
Billy adjusted his tie, "Is Mr Reader in?"  
Martha hesitated a split second before answering, unsure whether she wanted to say anything that the hawk-eyed clerk might catch and understand, and settled for the vague answer of "I think so". She picked up the phone on her desk and pressed the speed dial button that immediately rang the clerks room, "John, Clive? Office, please".


End file.
